Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2

by Doug Dandridge

  The Ca’cadasan ship lost dozens of her smaller grabber units, four laser domes, and a half dozen missile tubes. Two missiles coming out of their tubes detonated under the attention of coherent light, their two hundred megaton warheads going off a couple of kilometers from the hull and sending heat and radiation back into the ship. Dozens of close in defense systems and another six grabber units failed under the assault of this energy.

  “Take her missiles under fire with the lasers,” ordered Captain Mei Lei, watching the enemy ship buck and spew flaming atmosphere. “Hit the ship with a short salvo of missiles.”

  Six missiles left their tubes, heading at five thousand gravities toward their target, adding to the substantial velocity imparted to them by the moving battle cruiser.

  The enemy missiles were on target toward the human destroyer. Their sensors were locked onto the ship, expectantly waiting, as much as a machine could, for defensive fire and countermeasures from their target. They had not gone into evasive mode yet, as they were still too far away to be effectively targeted. Even beams of light from the enemy ship would not reach them for several minutes, well after they started evasive maneuvers.

  The combined beams of all four laser rings targeted one of the missiles, unerringly hitting it and tracking for the fraction of a second it needed to put terajoules of heat into the missile. The missile exploded as containment systems failed, milliseconds after the outer skin began to boil away. Antimatter touched matter and the missile turned into a pinpoint flare of ultimate bright.

  One after the other the lasers tracked on the other five missiles of the second wave, destroying them. The ship then went after the first wave, further away and harder targets. Three still fell to the lasers, gone before they could come near to threatening McArthur. The final three kicked in evasive maneuvers, whether from transmitted command from their launch platform or because their simple electronic brains had finally decided that something was up, the humans would never know. The final three missiles were overwhelmed by the McArthur’s defensive fire, blasted into plasma on the outer rim of the system.

  Ten seconds after launch the battle cruiser’s missiles were engaged by what was left of the enemy scout ship’s defensive systems. Three missiles were still killed. At twenty seconds the missiles detonated to attempt proximity kills, the ship having maneuvered enough to make a direct hit improbable. One missile went off two kilometers from the bow, flooding the already damaged ship with heat and radiation. The other two went off within five hundred meters of each other, three kilometers off the stern. Hull alloy vaporized and atmosphere gushed through new holes as the ship shook from the blast effects.

  “I’ve always wanted to try this,” said Captain Mei Lei as her ship came to within a hundred thousand kilometers of the crippled enemy. “Charge plasma torpedo.”

  “Yes ma’am,” said the tactical officer, a twinkle in his eye.

  Plasma torpedoes were really an ancient idea whose time had gone. Kept on ships more for a sense of tradition than anything else, they could be devastating at close quarters. But close quarters were not seen much in modern warfare. In the secondary fusion reactors near the bow of the battle cruiser the ten tons of gas was heated to over a million degrees in seconds. The mass was then ejected through the single bow tube of the battle cruiser, which only carried one to reduce her mass for other things. Held in a magnetic field by a carrier packet that rode along outside, the mass exited the ship at point two c and headed toward the target. The packet was only intended to hold the mass together for five seconds. It took two to reach the target.

  The mass of superheated plasma hit the side of the ship like a tidal wave. The gas burned into the hull like acid, turning alloy, ceramics and carbon armor into vapor. The plasma washed through the openings in the hull made by lasers and missiles, jetting in and destroying everything in its path. Most of the crew died from the influx of heat well before the plasma actually entered their compartments. Systems failed throughout the ship, and the ship died as its antimatter reactor went into shutdown with volatile antiprotons still in the feed.

  The ship, glowing from heat saturation, blew outward as softened superstructure buckled under the antimatter blast. The temporary star threw debris that was mostly vapor into space. And then it was gone with all the beings who had plied space with her.

  “Tight beam McArthur,” ordered the Captain to the com tech. “Tell her to stay put and we’ll match velocities with her. Then we’ll see what information we can gather from this in system row.”

  “What about the convoy, ma’am?” said Jackson, her exec, over the circuit from CIC.

  “The troop transports can get away in hyper VI with their escorts,” she answered. “Now about the freighters…”

  “Freighters and their escorts have translated into the system, ma’am,” said the sensor tech, looking nervously at her Captain.

  “Those freighters will take two hundred million kilometers to come to a stop,” she said, pointing at her plot of the system. “And they’re not survivable.” She looked at Jackson in the CIC screen as if challenging him to object.

  “You’re right, skipper,” he acknowledged, nodding his head. “They’re wrecks no matter what.”

  “Order the destroyers to pick up the crews from those ships and set them for self-destruct,” she told the com tech. “They can use missile warheads if they can’t get the ship’s fusion reactors to blow. Then they can translate back to hyper, make contact with the rest of the convoy, and get the hell out of here.”

  “And us, Captain?” said Jackson over the com.

  “We perform the primary mission of these wonderful ships the Emperor has placed in our trust,” she said with a tight smile. “We probe, gather information, and hopefully get it back to the Fleet. And possibly ourselves with it.”

  * * *

  “Are they running from us?” asked the young Lord who manned the tactical station.

  “No puppy,” said Low Admiral Hrisshammartanama, glaring at the tactical plot that took up the center of the command bridge. “Do they not teach you anything at the training hutch?”

  The officer tried to turn a fierce glare toward the older Lord. But his eyes dropped quickly from the burning gaze of an officer that could order his life ended in an instant. No matter the young Lordling’s family ties.

  “I do not understand?” he finally said.

  “Explain it to him, subofficer,” the Low Admiral ordered one of the bridge NCOs.

  “My Lord,” said the subofficer, his nose twitching in nervousness at being the one ordered to tell a lord in front of his peers that which he should have known. He licked his lips and continued under the gaze of the Admiral. “The enemy force is not running from us. Instead they have set up a situation where they will try to match velocities with us as we decelerate toward the planet they defend. That way, my Lord, they may attempt to keep us engaged in close combat for the greatest length of time.”

  “So they can be destroyed by us,” grunted the young Lord, looking around the bridge.

  “That may be the outcome,” said the subofficer. “Not the one they are hoping for. They hope to do considerable damage to our force while they are in range.”

  “Why do we not accelerate, then,” said the young Lord, “so we might thwart their plan?”

  “They might wish us to do that as well, my Lord,” said the subofficer, nodding.

  “And then, pup,” growled the Admiral, “they will have accomplished part of their mission. We would not be able to insert into planetary orbit, but would have to swing by the planet and come back. Giving them more time to organize their ground defenses.”

  “But they cannot win,” argued the young Lord. “Why would they sacrifice themselves in an unwinable fight?”

  “They are a brave species,” said the subofficer. “From all we can tell from their maneuvers so far, it is acceptable for them to lose their lives if it causes us difficulties.”

  “They intend to make us pay a price
,” said the Admiral. “How much of one remains to be seen. But pay it we will to take this system away from them.”

  * * *

  Vice Admiral The Countess Esmeralda Gonzalez’ face went white as she read the eyes only transmission that had just been delivered to her by the cryptology officer. He had looked nervously on while she read the paper flimsy he had hand delivered. Wondering what my reaction would be, she thought, as she turned reddening eyes toward him.

  The entire Imperial family, she thought as the shock continued through her system. And a war starting on our borders. Coincidence? She wasn’t sure, but it could send the Empire’s response curve into a crash. And the heir to the throne was about to meet that new enemy in combat that could very well prove fatal for him.

  “Copy a message for Admiral Heinrich,” she ordered the crypto officer. “Send this same message and append it with my recommendation that he gets the Prince to safety by any means possible. For his eyes only.”

  The crypto officer nodded as he jotted the message down on a flimsy pad. He looked up at the Admiral as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t seem to find the words. He gave a quick salute and hurried from the control center.

  If we can get an Emperor seated maybe we can avoid some of the paralysis of shock, she thought, looking into the space shown by the main viewer. And at least avoid any of the idiot cousins that Parliament might want to foist on us. She linked to the net and ran over what it had on the heir. Not a spectacular career, but competent. And if he’ll listen to the military he should do fine.

  “Two hours to launch, my lady,” called out her tac officer from his station.

  “Thank you,” she said, trying to pull the depressed look from her face. Can’t have everyone going into battle with this weight on their shoulders, she thought. They had enough on their plates as it was.

  * * *

  Admiral Sir Gunter Heinrich stood on the flag bridge of HIMS Archduchess Constance Leonardo, the battleship that was leading Task Group 4.9 of the Imperial Fourth Fleet, trying to keep his face from showing the shock he felt.

  “The whole damned family,” he whispered as he handed the message flimsy to his flag Captain. Captain Myra Lamborgini looked over the flimsy, her eyes widening as she swallowed.

  “You realize what this means?” she asked, handing him back the note.

  “It means the little shit officially outranks us,” he said with a shrug. “And even though he has not been through a coronation, he is for all intents and purposes the Emperor.”

  “And we have to get him to safety,” she said, nodding. “Without letting him know what kind of power he has just come into.”

  “We have to let him know,” said Heinrich, looking at the tactical plot. “How can we lie to our Emperor?”

  “A lie of omission,” said the Flag Captain. “To protect his life so he can exercise his power for a greater good.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You know he will refuse to leave if given the choice,” said Lamborgini, staring into the eyes of her Admiral, who was also her lover. “He has that damned honorable streak about him. The same one his father had. He would see it as his duty to die beside his comrades, especially if he is now the Emperor. And we would have turmoil in our government.”

  “Order him placed on a destroyer and taken from the system?” asked the Admiral. “Is that what you would do? Without letting him know why?”

  “I suggest ordering his ship to leave formation and make a run for hyper,” said the Captain, running her fingers through her hair. “That way the ship’s Captain could pretend to be following a tactical command from his Admiral, and the Prince wouldn’t have to know what is going on before it was too late to do anything about it.”

  “I just don’t know,” said the Admiral, pacing a short distance and back.

  “I know it takes a ship from your order of battle,” said the Captain, putting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a quick rub. “But we need to get him out of here somehow, and you know this is the most expedient manner to do it.”

  “Admiral,” called the tactical officer in a tense voice. “You’ve got to see this.”

  “What have you got?” asked the Admiral striding over to the tactical station, his Flag Captain at his heels.

  “Tactical feed from the ships,” explained the Lt. Commander.

  As if I needed that instruction, thought the Admiral, since his flag bridge didn’t have independent sensor feeds that didn’t go through the warships.

  “We have eighty objects out there now decelerating down our throats,” said the officer, pointing at the red arrows in the large holo tank that showed an overview of the system.

  “Eighty?” asked Lamborgini in disbelief. “How could they have kept those other ships hidden?”

  “I think they calved them,” said the tac officer. “Each of the thirty million ton capital ships was really a twenty-five million ton capital ship with a four million ton supercruiser and two of the scout ships riding on her. They just separated to prepare for battle.”

  “And the smaller ships have better accel than the capital ships,” said the Flag Captain into the Admiral’s ear.

  “Get me the Captain of the Sergiov,” he called to the com officer. “Ears only. Right after him get me the commander of their squadron so I can tell him what I have in mind.”

  “Where will you take it, sir?” asked the com officer, knowing that she wouldn’t be privy to an ears only comcast.

  “I’ll be in my day cabin with the Flag Captain,” said the Admiral. He looked over at the tactical officer before leaving the bridge. “Keep me immediately apprised of any more changes to the enemy order of battle.”

  “Aye sir,” said the tac. “Anything at all I’ll send right through to you.”

  Admiral Gunter Heinrich nodded to the officer, then walked from the large room through the hatch to his day cabin, where he could be near to the flag bridge at all times.

  “Their squadron is not going to like it,” said the Flag Captain, plopping down in the second chair in the cabin while the Admiral took the one behind his desk and linked to the com.

  “You were the one arguing for this,” he said with a grimace. The coal black face of Captain Ngano appeared on the viewer and the Admiral raised a hand to signal for the battleship commander to wait. The bottom of the viewer displayed a numeric of the time lag, twelve, meaning that the other battleship was over six light seconds away.

  “I’m just stating fact,” she said softly into his ear. “But we have to do it.”

  Heinrich nodded and turned back to the screen.

  “Captain Ngano,” he said in a command voice. “I have shocking news for you. And orders that may be just as shocking.”

  * * *

  “Why not just send him over to a destroyer on a shuttle?” asked Captain Sebastian Ngano, looking at his task group commander on the viewer. He waited the few seconds for his message to reach the flag, then come back to him.

  “I realize you don’t want to pull your ship out of the formation,” said the Admiral over the com. “But we are in a combat situation, and there’s no telling what might happen next. I don’t want the Emperor out there in a fragile shuttle if missiles start coming out of nowhere. Nor do I trust his life to a damned tin can. Your ship is one of the most survivable units in the group, he’s already on your ship, so I’ve decided that you will be the package to carry him to safety. Is that understood, Captain?”

  “Yes sir,” said the Captain, letting the mixed feelings wash over him. He was more likely to survive by running, as would his crew. He would gain the admiration of the fleet for being the Captain who brought the Emperor to safety. But he would be letting his fellow spacemen down by withdrawing such a powerful unit from the group. And the whole thing was out of his hands.

  ”I am signaling your squadron commander as to my actions,” said the Admiral. “So don’t bother getting in touch with her. Just get your ship moving as soon as possible. I’m sendi
ng the Jana Kleinman along with you to run interference if you need it. I figure a destroyer might just be able to screen you from long range missiles. At least a little bit.”

  “Yes sir,” said the Captain, looking over at the small tactical display on the wall screen. The destroyers and light cruisers were spread out behind the battleships in the formation, between the capital ships and the approaching decelerating enemy. One of the destroyers’ vector arrows began changing and it started moving closer to Sergiov.

  “Good luck, Captain,” said the Admiral. “That young man is now the most important asset in the system. Do whatever you need to get him home. Heinrich out.”

  The screen went blank and Ngano leaned back in his chair for just a moment. Should I tell the Prince, he thought, going through the possible responses to that in his mind. No. His Majesty the Emperor. Best to not.

  The Captain jumped up from his chair and strode from his day cabin back onto his bridge. The men and women were in battle armor, helmets and gloves off but near. He could feel the tension in the air as the bridge crew tried to keep busy enough to drive thoughts of the upcoming battle from their minds. There was a lot to do on the bridge, but in another fashion not that much, and the officers and enlisted personnel had too much mental reserve to not focus some on the imagined horror of the next two hours. Plopping into his chair he noted that all the eyes on the bridge were focused on him.

  “Helm,” he said to the young man seated in front of him at the control board shared by the navigator. “Put us on a course out system. Quickest vector that keeps us away from any known hostiles. Full power, execute.”

  The helmsman punched in the commands that set the ship in motion. She stopped boosting toward the planet and put all of her acceleration into a new course that would cause her to bend away from the formation and end up at the hyper limit.